


Securities

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:06:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>==>Dave: Have messy feelings about your boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Securities

**Author's Note:**

> I was half asleep when I wrote this and I'm half asleep now. NO REGRETS.  
> Yeah the title doesn't really make sense, oh well.

He deserves so much more than you.

John Egbert is everything you wish you could be-- sweet and charming and charismatic and romantic and just so fucking _nice._ He is chivalrous and sort of boyishly handsome, with an absentminded sort of strength you’ve never been able to achieve ( _not entirely your fault. If you and your bro and the ladies are anything to go by, Striders and their relating gene pools are just inherently skinny asses, doomed to stay small and lean no matter how healthy they eat, or how hard they work out_ ). Everyone loves him. The ladies adore him. But he, for some reason only he will ever understand, has chosen you.

You’re pretty much a bastard of the first degree. You can’t do romance, you’re sarcastic and rude and every sincere remark you make is layered in irony until its virtually unrecognizable; every time you open your mouth with the intent to stay something nice, the complete opposite tumbles out. You’ve lost friends over it. You’re pretty sure you’ve hurt John’s feelings with it more than once, as well. You pick fights you know you can’t win and he has to talk both of you out of it. In short, you are just like the worst boyfriend slash person ever, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that someday, he’ll realize it too, and you’ll wake up one morning to find him with his bags packed, halfway out the door.

You’re curled up on the couch, staring at the TV but not really seeing it. You’re so lost in your own thoughts you don’t even know what channel you’re “watching” right now. After another minute, you get fed up with yourself and just turn it off, flop onto your side and grope blindly for the comforter, until you’re at least _warm_ and pathetic. You figure if you’re not doing anything more productive than feeling sorry for yourself, you might as well just go to sleep, and the bedroom is just too far away right now.

But the thoughts don’t go away, and for some reason, alone in the dark of the apartment, trying to sleep on your own, it seems too fucking real; like he’s already given up on you, and you’re waiting up for some delusion your mind conjured to keep you going through the motions of your life without breaking down. You press your hands over your ears like maybe you can keep out the nagging voices that way, but now it just seems like they’re bouncing around in your skull, echoing and repeating and getting louder and louder and _louder_ until

A bright light narrowly misses searing your retinas, courtesy of your eyelids, and suddenly the only thing you’re hearing is an anxious, “Dave?”

By the time you’ve convinced your eyes that they will not burn to a crisp should you peel them open, the center of your world is two feet away from you, with wide, concerned blue eyes as he leans over your prone form. “Dude, you look really pale-- like more than usual, are you okay?”

“M’fine,” you croak, trying to prop yourself up on shaking arms. You fail miserably and collapse back onto the couch. John shakes his head sympathetically, and kicks off his shoes so he can nudge you onto your side and slide under the blanket next to you. You only manage a half-hearted mumble of protest when he drags you on top of him, your chest pressed against his as he tangles one hand into your hair, and rests one on your back to massage your shoulder blades. You feel your heart melting into a messy pile of goo when he starts raining butterfly kisses on your cheeks, your eyelids, your jawline. “Stop, Egbert, you don’t have to--”

“Oh my God, Dave, shut up,” he scoffs, ducking his head a little to press a lingering kiss to your throat. You whimper out a noise of content, and feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin. “Geez, you’d think I’d have learned not to leave you alone for too long by now, you sure know how to work yourself up!”

“What the fuck are you even talking about,” you mutter, unintentionally pressing closer when your back arches as the hand there kneads a muscle in the most deliciously painful way. “ _Aaaahn--_ ”

“Rose sends her regards, by the way,” he tells you with quiet cheer, and you distractedly remember that yes, that’s where he was, visiting your sister and her girlfriend. You can’t quite recall why you didn’t go with him. It might’ve had something to do with _mmmmmmnope_ , never mind, there goes that train of thought. You let out a restless, keening sigh, writhing under your boyfriend’s ministrations. He croons at you, gently, until you slump back against him, face tucked in the crook of his neck as he lazily cards his fingers through your hair. He’s just one big reassuring block of warmth and safety underneath you, and you’re pretty sure you couldn’t recall your insecurities right now even if you wanted to.

“You’re just too fuckin’ sweet for your own good,” you manage to mumble into the collar of his shirt. He laughs breathily, using the arm not involved in the admittedly very nice things happening to your hair to wrap around your waist and tug you somehow even closer to him.

“Good thing I’ve got you to look after me then, huh?” he whispers against your forehead. Your eyelashes flutter as you struggle to keep your eyes open, suddenly finding yourself incurably drowzy. You probably just stressed yourself out with all that fussing earlier, and now you’re too warm and comfortable to fight the onsetting wave of slumber. You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when John speaks again, sounding a little wistful. “I wish I could do something to stop you worrying so much.”

“Not your fault, man,” you slur, half asleep and incoherent. “You shouldn’ have to deal with my shitty abandonment issues, anyway.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have to deal with them either,” he grumbles, tightening the arm around your waist just the littlest bit. “You don’t have to hurt like that, Dave. You know I love you.”

You do. It’s not really something you can turn off at will, though, and you feel even worse knowing he worries about you.

When you don’t respond, he just sighs, tugging at the comforter a little. You’re sort of sleepily surprised to identify a little bit of both fondness and exasperation in that little rush of air. “You’re not getting rid of me any time soon, dude. I’m here to stay.”

Well, fuck.

Your cheeks heat up just a bit, and you feel a smile creep onto your face, unbidden, and you know he can feel it with your face pressed up against him like this-- however, the mortification of having all these messy feelings barred in front of the person you want to be the strongest for is well worth it for the delighted little noise you get for some upturned lips that he can’t even see. You know it will take more than that to permanently banish your insecurities, but it’s definitely good enough for now.

“Love you too, babe,” you finally breathe, barely audible. He eases you both into a more suitable sleeping position and reaches up to turn off the lamp, and darkness descends over the room once again. This time, though, you are not alone. The last thing you hear before you drift into the best sleep you’ve had in ages is an affectionate murmur of,

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”


End file.
